I said "De Vere" was chastely told,
Thought well of "Herbert Lacy,"
Called Mr. Banim's sketches "bold,"
And Lady Morgan's "racy;"
I vowed the last new thing of Hook's
Was vastly entertaining;
And Laura said "I dote on books,
Because it's always raining!"
I talked of music's gorgeous fane,
I raved about Rossini,
Hoped Ronzo would come back again,
And criticised Pacini;
I wished the chorus singers dumb,
The trumpets more pacific,
And eulogised Brocard's a plomb,
And voted Paul "terrific,"
What cared she for Medea's pride
Or Desdemona's sorrow?
"Alas!" my beauteous listener sighed,
"We must have storms to-morrow!"
I told her tales of other lands;
Of ever-boiling fountains,
Of poisonous lakes, and barren sands,
Vast forests, trackless mountains :
I painted bright Italian skies,
I lauded Persian Roses,
Coined similes for Spanish eyes,
And jests for Indian noses;
I laughed at Lisbon's love of mass,
And Vienna's dread of treason;
And Laura asked me where the glass
Stood at Madrid last season.
I broached whate'er had gone its rounds,
The week before, of scandal;
What made Sir Luke lay down his hounds,
And Jane take up her Handel;
Why Julia walked upon the heath,
With the pale moon above her;
Where Flora lost her false front teeth,
And Anne her false lover;
How Lord de B. and Mrs. L.
Had crossed the sea together;
My shuddering partner cried-"Oh, Ceil! How could they in such weather?"
Was she a blue ?-I put my trust
In strata, petals, gases;
A boudoir-pedant ?—I discussed
The toga and the fasces;
A cockney-muse?-I mouthed a deal
Of folly from Endymion;
A saint?-I praised the pious zeal
Of Messrs. Way and Simeon ;
A politician ?--It was vain
To quote the morning paper;
The horrid phantoms come again,
Rain, hail, and snow, and vapor.
Flat flattery was my only chance,
I acted deep devotion,
Found magic in her every glance,
Grace in her every motion;
I wasted all a stripling's lore,
Prayer, passion, folly, feeling;
And wildly looked upon the floor,
And wildly on the ceiling;
I envied gloves upon her arm,
And shawls upon her shoulder;
And when my worship was most warm,
She "never found it colder."
I don't object to wealth or land;
And she will have the giving
Of an extremely pretty hand,
Some thousands, and a living.
She makes silk purses, broiders stools,
Sings sweetly, dances finely,
Paints screens, subscribes to Sunday schools,
And sits a horse divinely.
But to be linked for life to her!
The desperate man who tried it,
Might marry a barometer,
And hang himself beside it!
MISS AMELIA JANE MORTIMER, LONDON,
TO SIR HENRY CLIFFORD, PARIS.
DEAR Harry you owe me letter-
Nay, I really believe it is two;
But I make you still farther my debtor-
I send you this brief billet-doux.
The shock was so great when we parted,
I can't overcome my regret:
At first I was quite broken-hearted,
And have never recovered it yet!
I have scarcely been out to a party,
But have sent an excuse, or been ill;
I have played but three times at ecarte,
And danced but a single quadrille ;
And then I was sad, for my heart ne'er
One moment ceased thinking of thee—
I'd a handsome young man for a partner,
And a handsomer still vis-a-vis.
But I had such a pain in my forehead,
And felt so ennuied and so tired,
I must have looked perfectly horrid—
Yet they say I was really admired!
You'll smile-but mamma heard a lancer,
As he whispered his friend, and said he,
"The best and most beautiful dancer
Is the lady in white"-meaning me!
I've been once to Lord Dorival's soirees,
Whose daughter in music excels—
Do they still wear the silk they call moirees?
They will know if you ask at Pardel's-
She begged me to join in a duett,
But the melody died on my tongue;
And I thought I should never get through it,
It was one we so often have sung.
your last you desire me to mention
The news of the court and the town;
But there's nothing now worth your attention,
Or deserving of my noting down.
They say things are bad in the city,
And pa thinks they'll only get worse;
And they say new bonnets are pretty,
But I think them quite the reverse.
Lady Black has brought out her three daughters, Good figures but timid and shy;
Mrs. White's gone to Bath for the waters,
And the doctors declare she will die.
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